"I guess if he attended to his business he'd find out in time," Jessie insisted. But Frank, whatever other faults he had, had none under the saddle; he was, moreover, old Joe's especial pet. One of the work horses had died during the preceding winter, which was the reason that this one was called upon to perform labor that he evidently regarded with distrust, if not active disapproval. So now the old man replied to Jessie's observation with unusual sharpness: "De whole worl' is plum' full ob plow hosses, so fur's I kin see. Yo' done meets 'em on de road, and in de chu'ch and de town meetin's, and on de ranches; yes, sir; yo' kin fine a plow hoss twenty times a day where yo' meets up wid a saddle hoss once in six mont's w'at is a saddle hoss, and not a saw-hoss wif a bridle on. Ef somebody's got fer to poun' dat Frank fer to make him drag a plow aroun', hit'll be somebody odder dan me w'at does hit! I done cut dem wicked ole clumsy blinders, w'at is a relict ob ba'barism, ef dere ebber was one, offen his bridle, so's 't dem bright eyes ob his'n kin see w'ats goin' on aroun' him, an' now I ain' gwine spile a good saddle hoss ter make a poor plow hoss. Hit's too much like tryin' ter make a eagle inter a tame ole goose," the old man concluded soberly. "Well, then, I suppose we'll have to give up the fall plowing, just on account of Frank's whims!" Jessie retorted, nettled. "No," Joe returned patiently; "I'se done gwine ter keep at hit, we's get hit done somehow; if not dis year, den de nex'. I 'clar fur hit, sometimes I done been tempted fur t' hitch one ob de cow beasts up along o' Bill an' tryin' de plowin' dat way." "Isn't there some way of making Frank keep straight without whipping him?" I asked, my sympathies being about equally divided between man and horse. "Oh, yes! I done thought a hun'nerd times dat ef dere was only some small, active boy w'at would ride him whilst I--" I sprang to my feet, tossing aside the pieces of gingham that were destined to form a new shirt for Mr. Horton: "Here am I, Joe, take me!" "You!" Joe's mild eyes looked me over, and gleamed approvingly. "You is little, you is active, an' yo' has de bravest heart, and de unselfishest sperrit--" he said, half soliloquizing, until I interposed, laughingly: "Come, now! Stop calling me names and say that I'll do!" "Dat yo' will, honey, chile, but I nebber thought ob askin' yo' to do sech wuck as dat! Hit ain' fittin' nohow!" "Fitting! Anything is fitting that is honest, and will help us out, Joe. Still, I am rather glad that the fields are quite out of sight from the road." "Dat's w'at dey is. Come on, den. Frank gwine wuck like a hero, now, 'cause he done think hit's saddle wuck w'at he's a doin'."